


Thou-Shalt-Not-Touch-Electronics Pulsifier

by Aezlo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Names, Other, Trans Character, naming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aezlo/pseuds/Aezlo
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Anathema and Newt head back to America to settle down and Newt gets some time to actually think about things and figure things out.Or: Newt comes out as transgender, and things all work out for the best.





	Thou-Shalt-Not-Touch-Electronics Pulsifier

Newt never really would’ve admitted it before, but “Newt” wasn’t really a name he preferred. Newton was right out, it just sounded dusty, far larger than he had any right to be. The new name starts with Anathema laughing, true tears in her eyes at the bricked iPhone in her hands (this one he just _handed_ to her from across the room and it bricked, that’s hardly fair): “I’m going to start calling you ‘Thou-Shalt-Not-Touch-Electronics Pulsfier.’”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it made something in Newt tingle in recognition.

“I think I might like that, actually,” he said, his voice a little small with wonder.

It’s quickly shortened to Electronics Pulsfier, Electro if Anathema’s feeling particularly sappy. Anathema takes them back to her home, but they quickly get a little stir crazy in NorCal living with relatives who also no longer feel purpose-driven without a certain witch’s notes. Anathema gets rid of the Tesla her mother bought her for ‘saving the world’ because good god, what havoc would Electronics wreck in _that?_ She buys the Ford pick-up truck she’d lusted after as a queer teen, and they go off on a road trip. America’s a lot larger than it has any real right to be, and Electronics enjoys doodling on maps (here be dragons), idly scrapbooking while Anathema yarn bombs public statuary and wins public eating contests with far too much grease and gusto.

When he trips and breaks his foot on _nothing_, just air and his own incredible lack-of-dexterity, he’s visited by another uncomfortable epiphany. No, nothing about the sordid state of American healthcare, although there’s a lot of that too. As he stands on his good foot looking out the ninth floor window of the hospital, Anathema wolf-whistling at the view from the back of his hospital gown, something clicks.

“I think I might be a girl.”

Electronics honestly didn’t mean to say it aloud, but there it was.

They bustle back to NorCal, Anathema apparently having secured some bungalow from another relative now that she’s “settled down.” She wrinkles her nose at that, that particular uncle having been very adamant that she couldn’t be queer, she was going to settle down with a nice boy, she’d see. She’d spray-painted rude gestures on the inside of his garage door as a teen and gotten a pride tattoo which she very proudly displayed whenever he was around. Yes, everything had been written in the _Nice and Accurate Yadda Yadda_, but life is for living.

Electronics heals, and decides to begin yet another terrifying new adventure in their life. It’s a little tricky at first. She’d never sat down as a tot and thought about pink and unicorns, or well, okay, unicorns had been an interesting diversion, yes. She didn’t look at her mother ironing and think, “I’ll do that for my husband someday!” She didn’t covertly steal her mother’s dresses. Mrs. Pulsifier owned exactly one dress, dark brown and exclusively used for formal events and funerals, and she was not exactly Electronics’ size. It takes a few false starts with different therapists along with Anathema’s undying support and hellfire drive, but Electronics begins transitioning. Honestly, life had started becoming technicolor the second she met Anathema, and this feels like just another layer of amazing on top of that. She’s starting to feel a little like she’s getting too much of a good thing, and it’ll all come ‘round to bite her in the end. Anathema snogs her whenever she notices that particular wrinkle in her brow, and eventually the feeling fades.

Politics are a little scary in America, and, well, worldwide, but they’re living in America so that’s what matters to them. They decide to get married, maybe just so Electronics can attain citizenship, and maybe also a little because they can’t really see themselves with anyone else for the foreseeable future. It’s easier to do before Electronics’ changes her name and gender markers, so she dresses in a bow-tie and jacket, feeling very uncomfortable until Anathema nearly gets them into an accident goosing her ego.

The ceremony is very small, just a quick thing at city hall, something that Mrs. Pulsifier can attend when she has a break in her own road trip across America. It’s a jolt to both of them to see a certain demon and angel milling about during the proceedings. Crowley gives them a wave which is all fingers, sneaking smile on his face, and Aziraphale is positively beaming, flapping happily at them.

They’ve kept up with the Them and the occult pair, but mostly through phone calls or Skype. They hadn’t really told anyone about the whole transition and marriage yet, but here they were. Aziraphale takes them all out to Chez Panisse after the documents are in hand, and they all have a frightfully good time, even Electronics' mom.

Once the hangovers and paperwork are dealt with, Mrs. Pulsifier heads back out on her road trip. Apparently, she’s involved in some sort of book club tour of the United States, looking at interesting spots that have appeared in fiction. She’s not sure she’ll be able to enjoy her rustic cowboy romance novels anymore since she’s tried sleeping on a hay bale herself, but perhaps that’s for the best. 

The angel and demon remain, idly sampling wines and continuing to visit the Electronics-Device bungalow many evenings throughout the summer.

One weekend afternoon, they’re on the beach near the bungalow. Electronics is too nervous to wear the one-piece suit they’d picked out even with just friends around. She rests a little miserably in the shade, watching Anathema and Aziraphale splash each other uproariously. Crowley lays out a towel next to her, today _en femme_, a black one-piece which peels down over his hips. The bathing suit reminds Electronics of old pin-ups of Marilyn Monroe, or pictures of relatives in black and white enjoying the beach. And, even though Crowley presents as almost any gender, he’s gently informed them that male pronouns are fine. Really, pronouns don’t hurt him, but if you must choose, he/him please.

“They still make bathing suits like that?” Electronics asks, a little dubiously. Crowley chuckles, and catches his sun hat as it tries to fly off his head again.

“Of course,” Crowley says. “I could get you one if you’d like,” he offers, and Electronics has to chew her lip as she considers that.

“I might,” she hedges, and Crowley nods, struggling a little unfolding the chaise. Electronics gets up to help, and they both end up falling over, laughing and now entirely sand encrusted. Crowley finally snaps and the chaise is laid out nicely, umbrella up, and neither one of them have sand in uncomfortable places.

“Thanks,” Electronics brushes off her shorts, the nagging feeling of phantom sand still bothering her.

They sit in companionable silence for a time, watching the loves of their lives enjoy the sun, summer, and sea.

“You like Electronics, then?” Crowley asks. He’s not asking whether she likes computers.

She toys with the bracelet on her wrist, grateful that jewelry is fine for girls because it gives you something to do with your hands at times like this. It also looks quite nice, and Anathema loves giving her new rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings. She sighs finally, throwing an arm over her face, “I’m not sure.”

“Mmm,” Crowley says, sipping a sangria which most certainly wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “I thought so.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it!” Electronics gestures up at the sky. “It’s better than Newt,” she says quietly.

Anathema and Electronics have been tossing names back and forth for months. Mrs. Pulsifier says that if she’d been born female, they were going to name her Tiffany. She’d wanted to name her Kim, but then Bob named his bloody golden retriever Kim, so there that went. Anathema can’t stand Tiffany, goes on a tirade about capitalism and jewelry which is frankly lost on Electronics. They work their way around the alphabet, starting with N’s, lingering around the T’s. They spend some time linking together normal names into the same configuration as Thou-Shalt-Not-Touch-Electronics, but that’s not it either. 

“Well, duh,” Crowley chuckles. He pauses, and the glasses he’s wearing are small enough that Electronics can see his yellow eyes considering the drink he’s stirring.

“I wasn’t always named Crowley, you know. They called me Crawley, back in the beginning. Never really good at naming, were we?” he wrinkles his nose in memory. “Should’ve been ‘Slithery’ or something. I was a snake after all,” he turns to smirk at Electronics, who’s gawping a bit. She’s listened to Aziraphale and Crowley talk about ancient history as if it was just something they’d lived through, but the concept that Crowley had originally been a snake was causing Thou-Shalt-Not-Touch-Electronics.exe to stop working.

“Oh,” Crowley laughs a little. “Sorry, forgot you didn’t know,” he points at the little brand on his cheek. “Original tempter, that was me.”

“Ah,” Electronics feels like she’s just been tossed into a very deep pool and is floundering. “Right.”

“Look, that doesn’t matter. What I was trying to say is, sometimes you kind of hit _near_ the mark for a name. Crawley didn’t work, but, Crowley did,” he gestures a little, like he’s trying to corral something or redirect a river.

She’s not sure later if there’s something like that finger snap, boom no-sand-pants, involved in this. Visions of giant anacondas with Crowley’s face on them slithering through her head can’t have led her to this conclusion. Nonetheless, the name drops into her consciousness like an airdropped package. “Oh,” she says, a little startled.

Crowley smiles to himself, taking a long sip of sangria. “Find it?”

“Electra,” she says, and she’s grinning. “Oh my god, I’m so stupid,” she laughs, and she’s not sure why, but she’s hugging Crowley and crying a bit. Crowley rubs her back lightly, soothing and immensely pleased. Anathema rushes in from the ocean, sopping wet and brimming with energy and emotion.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, leaning down and covering the both of them in seawater from her very thick hair.

“Electra!” Electra cries happily, beaming soggily at Anathema. It takes a second for Anathema to register what she means, but when she does, she’s wrestling Electra in a bearhug, laughing happily. Over the following weeks, she calls her by her name excessively, and it never stops making Electra beam.

Electra’s very good at paperwork, so within a few months, she’s the happy owner of the name Electra T. Pulsifier-Device.

Crowley insists to Aziraphale that he didn’t have any hand in it, though the smile he’s struggling to suppress is very telling. He snaps behind his back, and Electra receives a call from a CPA firm looking for an auditor, and a green cotton swimsuit in her size folds itself into her dresser.

“You soft, sweet serpent.” Aziraphale kisses the smug look off his face.


End file.
